Touched by a Flower
by C. D. Louise
Summary: Francesca Ginata is a special girl with very unique gifts. Sent to Hogwarts from a difficult life, she falls into the web of hatred and spite that makes up both Harry Potter's world, and Draco Malfoy's.
1. Prologue

The delicacy of a flower is not to be underestimated, for the most beautiful flower is usually able to hurt one the most, even if the hurt was not meant.

He knelt by her grave and whispered her name, "Francesca," one last time, and lay exactly 6 pink lady flowers, 5 purple tiger lillies, 4 marigolds, 3 licourice vines, 2 5 o' clocks, and 1 red rose on the snow mound covering her burial site.

He stood, and realized what she would want of him then. She would have wanted him not to go on living in sorrow and hate, and to live a full, happy life. Francesca was the only person in the world who knew what was in everyone's best interest, and the only person in the Universe who knew what lie in his own heart.

He had thought that she had taken his heart with her when she was killed. It was awful, and the feeling was more than anguish. Why the only person had to be taken away from him whom he loved with all his heart, he would never know. Oh, he knew how, but not why.

He'd loved her, and walked away from her grave with sadness in his heart and mind, but a clarity in his soul which he had never possessed before.

* * *

He sighed and rolled over and punched his pillow again and again in his mad grief. Why did she have to die? Why did she have to leave him on Earth without a clue? Was there a reason she was taken from him?

He had loved Francesca, and she took his heart with her when she died. He sighed in anger and hate, and stood on bare feet to cross his dorm and put on his robes. He fitted on his slippers and headed out. Out of the Common Room, past the prefects, outside, to the lake. She was buried by the lake. She loved it there.

He made it in record time through the heavy white snow on the ground and his feet were chilled by the time he made it to her grave.

Someone had been there before him, judging by the flowers, and the footprints heading back to the castle. He bent down to the rose, and tried to touched it. It pricked his finger, and he let out a guttural, primal cry of anguish and fell to the snow, not wishing to leave her.

After all, she had left him...


	2. Chapter 1: Chosen

_2 Years Earlier_

McGonagall led Francesca up the steps to place the hat on her head.

"Insightful...witty...laughing...caring...loving...ambitious...deeply sad...hmmm, do you know, I think you will do quite well in Gryffindor...or Ravenclaw...no, not Ravenclaw. You are smart enough my dear but they are vicious when they want to be...yes, I think Gryffindor...no wait...this is very interesting..."  
Francesca could not tell if a person was talking to her...but she figured it was the hat.

"I think you should be on your own...the Uniter, as I call it. We need one of those. We haven't had one for a while. The professors will explain to you, but you are in every house now...as soon as I call it out. Ready? One...Two...Three."

Everyone heard it as the hat shouted it out, but Francesca heard it loudest.

"THIS GIRL IS THE UNITER!"

She heard everyone gasp and felt the hat being gently lifted off of her hat. She felt someone take her hand and lead her down the steps.

"Where would you like to sit, Francesca?" she heard the voice of Professor McGonagall ask gently.

"Do I have choices?" Francesca returned with a hopeful smile.

"Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw," McGonagall answered. She sounded quite weary and excited at the same time. It would be amazing if anyone could make up a word for that.

"Gryffindor sounds nice," Francesca answered her new teacher.

"Very good choice, my dear. That is my house. Here you are," McGonagall sat her down at a table and left to walk back up to the Staff Table, all still surprised that they had a Uniter.

"What's your name?" a polite male voice to her right asked.

She looked toward the voice and replied, "Francesca, and you are?" and she held out her hand to shake.

"Ron. Ron Weasley," he took the proffered hand and kissed it, and then introduced his friends, "These are my mates, Hermione and Harry."

When she did not look to where he gestured he tilted his head slightly to the side, finding it awfully rude. Come to think of it, she had not even looked at him either.

She answered his unasked question, "You must excuse of immediately I do not respond. You see, I am blind."

Everyone within earshot quieted down immediately, and then Hermione cleared her throat and reached across the table to touch Francesca on the shoulder. "I am Hermione. Hermione Granger," she introduced herself politely, and Francesca looked in her direction and gave her a small smile in greeting.

Everyone else was silent throughout the meal and she had made very little progress making friends just then.

She was walked by Professor McGonagall to her room leading off the library and led around so that she would know where everything was. McGonagall left her and Francesca felt around the room to gather her clothes for a bath. She walked over carefully to her bathroom.

Later, when she tucked herself into bed, it was with a sense of foreboding of what was to happen to her the next day. She had no idea what a Uniter was, but she also knew most of her peers did not know, either. That was the last thing she needed: to be even more different than she already was.


	3. Chapter 2: A Calling

They called to her. Called to her in the middle of the night while she slept in fitful slumber. She woke, startled, like she had never been called in the middle of the night by what most needed her attention. They seem to have found where she was, even though she was almost sure that she was higher up than she would have thought polite, seeing as everyone, from the time she said it to Ron to the time the feast was over, knew that she was blind. She could not very well make her way up stairs, without some help of course.

She carefully stood from her bed and walked over to her door. They were calling to her, and would lead her in the right direction, and warn her if she was about to collide with anything which would immediately send her sprawling. They directed her outside of the castle, and she listened breathlessly with her mind as they told her to go right, and then to walk straight. Well, they did not tell her. Not exactly. They showed her, but it was not by way of pictures in her head.

Finally, she was in front of five, perilously large, glass greenhouses, and she smiled, taking in their earthy scent. They were elemental, and she was in their element, one with which she shared a connection so deep she could have been born one of their own kind. She sank onto her hands and knees and crawled and searched until she found exactly what she had been looking for. She dug her arms into it. 'It' is such a perilous word, and so one must not describe the soil as such without at least hinting at what it is. 'It' was a large patch of soil which had somehow found its way out of the greenhouse but still connected with it.

She buried her arms to the elbow in the damp soil, and sat in that position, sending her magic through all of the vines and roots which connected where she was to every living thing in those greenhouses. They immediately warmed up to her and let her share their scent as she let them share hers. Such vibrant life. She rarely touched life in her past.

She was an orphan, and her orphanage was made of and surrounded by strong, but simple, stone and concrete. The only plant life she had to connect to was the molds that grew in the bathtubs, and they were not very happy, so in turn she was not very happy. Neglecting plant life, even if it was of the basest quality, was something that she simply could not allow. Weeds were an exception to this rule, of course, as all they did was kill their fellow green friends.

She was so at home and alive for the first time in three years that she fell asleep in that position, where a boisterous old lady called Professor Sprout found her. Actually, the plants awakened her more than anything else. They woke her with an overly surging excitement before dawn, and she did not have to wait too terribly long to find out the reason for their excitement.

"Miss, er," the woman exclaimed, surprised, "Miss...miss...er."

Francesca was quite sure that Professor Sprout would have been saying the words, 'Miss' and 'er' until she became firmly rooted in the earth that she stuck her arms into. Judging by the way she felt, she was not entirely sure that the plants had not done her that favor. And so, before the professor uttered any more 'misses' or 'ers,' Francesca piped up with, "Ginata, Madame. My name is Francesca Ginata."

Francesca did not know whether Professor Sprout was particularly personable and quickly decided that she did not want to spend enough time with the older woman to find out, for clearly Professor Sprout thought that Francesca was patronizing her. She huffed and stomped before she finally managed to ask, "What are you doing here, Miss Ginata?"

Francesca had hoped that question was the one question she would not be asked. It was a silly hope really, because it was always what everybody asked her when she was not where she ought to be. Ironic it seemed, really, because it usually was because she was out of bed at odd hours of the night.

Francesca sighed, hating the question. Even a witch would not take well to the answer, 'because the plants called to me.' The plants called to her. Botany, or indeed any sort of gardening, was a calling, but plants did not call to people with voices, plain and simple. She knew it was cowardly, and she knew it would get her more than the switch, but she just said, "I don't really know."

It sounded more patronizing than even saying her name to Professor Sprout, she knew this, but nevertheless she sat there, arms still firmly packed in soil, and waited for the professor to pass judgment. The woman blustered and let out a couple of 'hmmphs,' before finally murmuring something about the headmaster and telling Francesca to come with her. Francesca heard her walk away and pulled her arms out of the soil with surprising ease, as it had felt, just moments before, as if the plants' roots had taken hold of her.

She stood and called out, "Professor," because she wanted the woman to know who she was, although she knew perfectly well that she could have easily followed Professor Sprout. Francesca might not have known whether she actually liked the woman or not, but she knew she liked her scent. The professor simply smelled green, as if plants were her life and passion, but mostly herbs. Francesca preferred flowers, herself. They had more personality and were more humble than most of the green plants she encountered. Mold, for instance, is a very detestable growth indeed, and very arrogant. That is why it will grow anywhere, although one would think it would be more desperate than anything to grow anywhere.

"Yes, Miss Ginata?" Professor Sprout called back, clearly losing patience. Well, she might have been losing it, assuming she had had some to begin with.

"Professor, I am blind, and I cannot very well follow you because of this." She overstated the obvious, she knew, but she heard, with superb accuracy, the professor murmur an apology and walk back with heavy tread to take Francesca's hand. The professor's hands were rough, much like a gardener's, and callous, like she spent every day and most nights in her garden, which made Francesca respect her more. Well, more than she did, which was saying something.

She was led across the grounds, smelling the air, and into the school, and up a couple of flights of stairs(more than it took to get to her room) and down a corridor. Professor Sprout said the password, 'Lemon Drops,' and Francesca was led into another stairwell after she heard the heavy, horrid sound of stone scraping against stone. Hell, to her, stone was almost always a horrible sound unless it was used for a good purpose, like a garden fence.

Francesca was never a coward. Actually, that might be to generous, but she never acted a coward. She heard Professor Sprout rap a few times, hard, on a hollow, oak door, and heard an 'enter' bid by a voice which sounded a few years older than it should have been allowed life. She felt the oak wood before her and felt it come to life at her touch. She admired the headmaster for using a sensible tree like oak, instead of the ever-petty cherry wood, which was replaced by the oak some years ago. The door was opened for her and she walked inside as she was bid.

"Headmaster, I found Miss Ginata sneaking around my greenhouses this morning," Professor Sprout announced as she walked straight up to Albus Dumbledore's desk to make her complaint. She was almost offended that the headmaster did not jump up and immediately give Miss Ginata a month's worth of detention for the heinous act, but she knew that Dumbledore did not react to anything in that undignified manner. He just peered at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles at her face, which looked impatient and annoyed and impossibly angry. He was surprised. He was also surprised to acknowledge the fact that he had not ever seen her angry.

He nodded, calm and collected, at his esteemed colleague, and murmured, "You may go, Professor Sprout."

She again found herself almost offended by his lack of passion, and then with a murmur of ascent and good will, she turned right around and strode out the door.

He glanced at Francesca, who was looking at her feet ashamed, as if she would get whipped any second now. "Will you please sit down, Miss Ginata?" he offered, and conjured up a comfortable chair. She found the chair instantly, for its core was pine. Festive pine. She sank into the cushions, and waited for her lecture to start. Though Professor Sprout had not given a reason for why she had been brought unceremoniously up to the headmaster's office, she had plenty of reason to think that she would get beaten for no actual fact. Plenty of reasons. They were all on her back and legs.

It never hurt to try to get out of a beating though, so she did nothing short of plead quietly, and sink lower and lower into her chair, "Please, sir. Do not punish me, please? I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was there, yes, but I wasn't doing anything except sitting I swear. I was there because-" She stopped mid-speech, knowing fully well that she had been about to say she was there because the flowers had called to her.

"Why were you there?" Dumbledore prompted, staring at the girl fully aware of her past and her gifts, but not wanting to say as much. He had never stopped himself from saying exactly what he meant with other people, but he knew this girl would not take it well. Not that, he thought with a chuckle, anyone else had.

"Because. Because," she stuttered. Why could she not be a normal person? Normal people could lie, could say anything they damn well pleased, but not her. If she lied she would be brought back to her orphan days, and she never wanted to think about that again. Finally, she lost her personal battle and said, "Because the plants called to me."  
Dumbledore did not seem too surprised as he asked, "And you had to follow their call? Don't be so fidgety, Miss Ginata. I can assure you that no one here doles out any sort of beating, as you seem inclined to think."

Francesca jolted in surprise. How had he known that? He could not have known that! She never told anybody who did not already know! His question had startled her too. He believed her explanation then? He did not think she was loony then? She could not resist the question, "You believe me? About the plants, I mean."

Dumbledore said that indeed, he did believe her, because his students did not make too much of a habit of lying to him. Besides, the way the potted germanium on his desk was leaning toward her as sunflowers grow toward light, he would have been mad not to believe her.

"Actually," Dumbledore continued, "this is undoubtedly convenient, as it has saved us both precious time we could use during the day. I needed to talk to you about the whole Uniter business."

"I want to know about it," Francesca mumbled, more than anything to fill the pause, which she was inclined to do if there was a pause. She was still reveling in the fact that for once she told someone, and they actually believed her. It was a scary thought, really, when one thought about it hard enough.

"It seems that every couple of years or so bring us the good fortune to garner someone like you into our ranks," Dumbledore began, and Francesca thought she positively beamed. He continued, "Someone who is blind, or deaf, or crippled, or simply disabled in some way or another. That is not the main reason for the appointment though. Usually, the hat chooses someone who has a rare but special gift, and someone who is able to end fights, and hardly able to start them. Someone who has enough insight to see right to the heart of the problem, forgive the figure of speech."

"No apologies are necessary, sir," Francesca said breathlessly. He was speaking to her as though she were special, and as though she were the only person in the world who could set it right. He was speaking to her as though she had a treasured gift, and not just the ability to communicate with plants.

"Well, you are agreeable." Dumbledore nodded approvingly at her, then approvingly at the Sorting Hat, which nodded approvingly back at him. "If you require anything to make your accommodations more comfortable, I will do all I can to obtain the necessities," he assured her, and she smiled.

This was the first time anyone had assured her of anything since, but she would rather not think of those memories. She answered shyly, wondering if she was asking too much, "I was wondering if I could choose flowers to have in my dormitory. I would like to live in a room with thousands of flowers. It is easier to make my way around. That, and having flowers to lead my footsteps so that I don't fall or lose my way or some such thing. It would be such a blessing. I find I am almost blind without plants nearby. Forgive the figure of speech." She ended her request a little cheekily.

Dumbledore just chuckled and acquiesced, "That can be arranged. Do you have some sort of arrangement in mind?"

It was a simple question, but she answered it with very few spared details. She knew exactly where she would put every flower at her disposal in her living quarters, and she spent the better part of two hours naming every plant, telling him how many, and exactly where to put each. She lost track of time, so ensconced in her planning was she. She was very vulnerable when there was no greenery around her, and could never sense beyond what her ears told her. She had impeccable hearing, but when someone was silent, she could only hope to sense and know who they were if the plants were telling her. She explained all of this and so much more to Albus Dumbledore, who listened to her until it was clear that they both painfully craved breakfast.


	4. Chapter 3: Help

Francesca started classes the day after that, having them with fourth years. She was fifteen and just started a year late due to her orphanage ignoring the letter from Hogwarts they received. The school was more persistent the next year and Francesca was enrolled in a private magic school, so that if the orphanage paid them enough they would not ask about the scars on her person. Finally, four years after that the Ginatas adopted her and insisted she go to Hogwarts, as they had attended and found it an excellent school.

The day progressed as follows:

7:00 am Francesca woke up.

7:03 am Francesca started the shower.

7:30 am Francesca dressed and readied for the day.

7:45 am Francesca hurriedly grabbed a tiger lily off of her dresser and weaved the stem into her braid.

7:50 am Francesca went down to breakfast.

8:00 am Francesca received her schedule and sat at the Hufflepuff table. She talked to no one.

9:00 am Francesca attended Potions lessons.

10:30 am Francesca attended Transfigurations.

12:00 pm Francesca ate lunch out on the stairs in front of the school.

1:00 pm Francesca attended Double Herbology. (She did so every weekday from then on at Dumbledore's request.)

4:00 pm Francesca attended Care of Magical Creatures (which she found extraordinary).

5:30 pm Francesca had a free hour and a half, in which she went to her room and changed out of her robes.

7:00 pm Francesca took supper outside.

Francesca sat out in front of the school, eating a meager Shepherd's Pie, not wanting to face the awkward silence that seemed to cover the Great Hall when she was around. She knew that it was not normal for students not to have anything to say, and sensed that they did not know what to say around her.

She sighed, and looked up, fancying that she could see the stars. She made up constellations in her mind and hoped that her mind's eye was more breathtaking than anything normal people could see. She set her empty plate to the side and moved to stand, holding the rail as she did so, then made her way down the steps and out onto the grounds.

Francesca did not need a cane of any sort, as she had nature's greenery to tell her if she was about to collide with or trip over something. She approached an old pine tree and took a seat on one of its roots. It instantly and literally warmed to her, and she fell asleep for about an hour or so quite comfortably in that position, then made her way back to her room, pleasantly surprised upon sensing that her request of Dumbledore was fully met.

* * *

Francesca had taken to weaving a flower through her hair or wearing it somewhere around her person during the day so she would be able to see where she was going even if she were not anywhere near some kind of wood. The place she most needed this was in the dungeons, and this was the place Draco Malfoy decided it was high time to pick on the tiny slip of a new girl. She would be easy. She was blind!

He, Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple of his gang walked over to her, the dungeons were black as pitch and not safe for girls as small as little Francesca, but she felt it. She felt their malice, and their amusement, and knew that it was for her, as no one else was around. She smiled and ignored their presence, hearing the rustle of their cotton pants as they approached, knowing that she would be safe from harm if she did not acknowledge her assailant, if only because of the flower she had tucked behind her ear.

This would be way too easy, and the Slytherins almost worried that the ease of it would take away from the fun. Malfoy was confident, and grabbed the chit from behind and turned her to face him. "Hey, Ginata-What the Hell?!" She smiled. He had seen her eyes, and thought her a freak. When she was wearing tulips her eyes turned a particular shade of neon green, and usually they were closed so that people would not freak out. She had opened her eyes immediately at the sound out of his mouth, and laughed as she heard his shoes clack the opposite way of the corridor, away from her.

Francesca never did anything to hurt anybody. She could frighten, yes, but she was a peaceful creature who just wanted acceptance, which she never received. Faintly reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster, but without strength to act upon her hurt. Francesca smiled, shook her head, and closing her eyes again, headed down the hall toward Potions with Professor Snape.

* * *

Three weeks later found her sprawled on the dungeon hallway floor, having been attacked by Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. Her head was bleeding and she cried out for help, her throat closing and eyes stinging because of the pain in her head and neck.

Here's how it happened:

Malfoy decided that it was high time to get back at the bitch for embarrassing him in front of his friends, so he did a little research and found that Francesca's one weakness was being bereft of plants, and that was why she wore at least one flower at all times. He was the one who stole the flowered bracelet that she wore, and then left her to his cronies to be dealt with as they liked. Crabbe was the one who pushed her backward so hard she could not stumble and keep her balance, and her head made a sickening crack on the stone; Goyle then proceeded to kick her in the stomach, thus thrusting the breath from her lungs and breaking something. She was not sure what.

That was where Professor Snape found her: heaving and bleeding on the floor outside of the room next to his under a torch. Snape quickly conjured up a stretcher for his hurting student and took her all the way up to the Hospital Wing, where Madame Pomfrey set her into a bed and quickly closed up the cut on her head and set magical bandages to heal her broken ribs.

Francesca stopped crying by that time, and just thought about Draco Malfoy, fully intending to punish him for what he did. Crabbe and Goyle were just dumb servants to the Malfoy git, so they could not be held responsible for their actions. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, needed help, and she would force him to talk to her.

Two days and her ribs had mended, her head stopped hurting and she was forced to leave the Hospital Wing. She had had no visitors, no get-well-soons, no cards, no candy, or balloons, not, she assured Madame Pomfrey, that she was expecting any.

The first place she walked was to her bedroom, so that she could retrieve a flower and actually put it into her pocket so it would not get stolen. She went to the restroom, and then walked directly out and to the Great Hall for a very eventful supper.

Well, not really. Rather, she felt peoples' eyes on her and decided, once again, that she would go outside and enjoy her supper there. That night was the night teachers would lead Draco Malfoy to her room, and they would talk. If she was to take her appointment seriously she would speak first with the people who picked on her, and then move on to others.  
"So, what do you want?" Draco's snide voice greeted her the moment she opened her bedroom door. He wore a pair of jeans and a cotton t-shirt, and he had the audacity to recline on her bed.

Draco had been led by Professor McGonagall to this place, and told to wait for Francesca Ginata. If he did not wait patiently or created some disturbance of any kind to the room, he would be in detention with Mr. Filch for the rest of the semester. Naturally, he was peeved, as he did not like a girl younger and weaker than he making decisions about his free time. Draco was unduly shocked when he entered the room, and found not a normal dormitory but one covered from wall to ceiling with plants. Just plants. Slightly unnerving, that. Well, what was slightly unnerving was the fact that, upon entering the room, Draco was immediately soothed of severe hurts or worries in his mind.

He studied the girl, Francesca Ginata, unscrupulously, as he knew that she could not see him. He rather doubted that he would have acted much different if she could. He never did, with any girl. She was a pale girl, thin as a figurative pole, and she was petite. He found himself wondering how old she was. She had bushy eyebrows, and her eyes were set a little too close together; her nose was long and had a bump at the bridge, making it suddenly slant down along the length; her hair was straight, black, and without shine; and her face was heart-shaped. She was not a sort of pretty to get excited about, and not worthy of any romantic attentions on his part.

He watched her smile mischievously, and he wondered what exactly she would answer.

"I want you to tell me why exactly you took it upon yourself to welcome me to your ways so dramatically," she finally said peacefully, and started to walk over to the bed, stride confident but small.

She was standing next to the bed when he asked, "Why?"

A simple, one-syllable word, that 'why', and she tilted her head slightly. It was a complex answer, and so she had to come up with a simple one.

She found the place on the bed which he had left absent and sat upon it, faced where she thought he might have been, and replied, "You have a problem, and you need help, or at least someone to talk to. I want you to talk to me."

His already-pale face paled a little bit more. She knew? He had never told anyone! How would she know?! Maybe she did not know, and she was trying to trick him, and that is what he said.

She smiled. It was not in her nature to take revenge, but this was funny. "The first step to admittance is denial, Draco Malfoy. I am not dense, you know, and I see quite clearly that you have an issue. Well, not see, but feel."

Draco laughed. She was bluffing, then? Funny. Funny. "Come off it. You're blind! Nobody can tell what people are thinking just like that!"

"Really? Would you like me to tell you your secret, or would you like to tell it yourself?" she asked, amusement backing up her voice, but it was then she heard the soft sound of cloth against cloth by the door. As Draco was about to speak she held up a foreboding finger. "Hold!"

Draco's mouth flapped a few times. "But, wha-?" he began, and she looked at him murderously and opened her eyes: aqua-blue. She was holding an azalea she picked off the bed for just that.

"I meant, 'Shut up!'" she said vehemently. Someone else was in her room with them, and judging by the sound and vibrations she heard, and what the moss told her, the trespasser was someone very recognizable. She did not take kindly to trespassers.

* * *

Harry Potter watched as Professor McGonagall led Draco out of the hall, and wondered how deep in it Draco was. He stood discreetly and followed them, shoving the doors open very quietly so as not to alert them to his presence. He grabbed the invisibility cloak from his bag and covered himself with it. He always carried it with him. Better to be safe than sorry, as everyone kept telling him. He grabbed the rail of the stair with an uncloaked hand and hoped to God that no one had seen it, although he would bet that someone did.

He crept to the library, saw Draco and the professor take a detour to the right of the library door, followed them, and crept in after Draco as McGonagall walked away with a last stern warning in Draco's general direction. Why was Draco being led to Francesca's room? Last he heard Draco had bullied Francesca into the hospital wing, and he did not think that Francesca would want him in the room. Nevertheless he watched, and waited, as Draco made his way to Francesca's bed and sat on it, then lay on it as if he owned the place. _Arrogant prick!_ Harry thought, and stood in the corner to wait for what- or who-ever Draco waited for.

Francesca waited for him to move again. She closed her eyes and turned back to Draco. "Please explain your relationship with Harry Potter, Draco," she said, very friendly, and walked over to him. She cringed as Harry's shoes crushed the moss: she always shed her shoes at the door before she walked on her plants.  
"What? That blighter? What does he have to do with anything?" Draco asked snidely, hoping to God this thing would end. He had other, more important, things to do, and his time would not be wasted by a blind chit.

"Thank you. That's enough of an answer. Now Harry, would you care to explain your relationship with Draco?" Suddenly, she heard nothing but Draco's confused 'what?' and she walked forward to where she knew Harry was killing her precious moss. She felt the soft velvet of the invisibility cloak, and she yanked on it, hard. Harry gasped, surprised, and Draco did the same. She stood silently while the two took time to adjust to the presence of one another, and then, "Harry, you never answered my question, and kindly take off your shoes. You're killing my plants. You too, Malfoy!" She was never so horribly inclined unless it came to the welfare of her plants to be snappish toward people.

Both boys shed their shoes before they had time to think about what exactly they were doing, and briefly looked at each other in surprise before remembering they hated one another. How had the girl done that: had them obey without their own minds' consent?

Francesca smiled congenially and motioned toward a chair in a corner. "Harry, you sit there, and I will sit on the floor, and you will answer my question."

Harry did as he was told yet again and once he was seated, answered, "Malfoy is a prat who has been a git to me since day one."

"Interesting, and not entirely true. Response, Mr. Malfoy?" She sounded like a debate host. She walked over and sat next to Draco once more, knowing he would not dare try anything within her own dormitory.

"No. It's not my fault he decided to go to Gryffindor with the Weasels," Draco said, and Francesca heard the sneer in his voice. It would have sounded weak if he had said that he offered Harry friendship that day if he were a fellow Slytherin. He would have sounded like a whiner, and a whiner he was not.

"What you're telling me is that the only reason you don't like Harry is because he's not in Slytherin?" Francesca asked insightfully, knowing full well it was not the only reason, but enjoying rattling Draco's nerves endlessly anyway. She may not have wanted revenge, but sometimes a little fun at the evildoer's suspense is necessary.

"No," Draco answered simply, "Can I leave now?" He wanted to get out. Eventually she would extract from him something that he would not be able to take back, and that would have been horrid.

"I never said you couldn't leave, but know that you will be back. Willingly, too," Francesca said cheerily and hopped off the bed to motion to the door. "Ta Ta!"

Draco left grumbling something about killing somebody and Francesca smiled. He would be back. He was not that stupid.

"Harry, you may go too." It sounded like an utter dismissal, and so he stood up, even more confused, and left. A thought occurred to him though, and suddenly he became angry and stomped back to see her sitting on her mossy floor twirling a flower in her hand.

"You've no right to meddle in our affairs. Leave me be," Harry said mutinously, and then left permanently. Francesca knew that Harry would never set foot in her room again. Interesting.

Complains about his life always but too much pride to set foot in a room where he was invited to do the same. She laughed and shut the door. She needed to change for bed.


End file.
